Coyote (42 page)

I screamed into San Francisco airport well past boarding time, abandoned my car at the kerb, and ignored the cursing security patrol that'd been watching. They raced after me. I was fast enough to outdistance them to the boarding gate but there was no one there and it was already barred.

I glared through the airport windows — I could see my plane taxiing out, getting in position for take-off.

Security arrived and tried to take me into custody. I flipped out my NTA licence and started talking fast … This was a national emergency, I told them, and I just
had
to get on that plane!

Gob-smacked by my shiny new licence and unwilling to make a mistake that I threatened would most certainly end in their own arrest, they dropped me like a ticking bomb on their boss. He listened but refused to do anything unless I could tell him on exactly whose authority I was acting.

I knew the NTA wouldn't back me up so I gave him an unlisted number — one I'd only acquired earlier today.

He rang, gave his position and name — then a shocked look sharpened his blunt features.

Even from across the desk I could hear the almighty tones of Balthazar Ruttle, the politically well-connected mayor of San Francisco, blasting an unauthorised official for using his so-very-private line. The boss of airport security started spluttering about me, received one curt order in reply, and then handed me the phone. Balthazar was no fool, so we got down to business quickly. Then I handed the phone back …

Like I told Des — Mayor Ruttle owed me big time for not giving the media every tiny detail of the Gideon Webb attacks on his precious investment-hungry city … Well, so far I hadn't.

Oh, and for saving his life too …

I don't exactly know what Ruttle said — but after that Air Traffic Control was contacted and the plane held while everyone negotiated. Ruttle had too many friends in high places so it wasn't long before they ferried me out to the runway and I was hauled aboard.

The bemused passengers and crew left me strictly alone while I studied my maps of New Mexico and tried to work out how the hell to get to Big Sun Canyon on time. The plan was I'd collect my four-wheel-drive in Albuquerque and use every back road and goat track necessary to get me into Big Sun Canyon well before dawn.

But when I got to Albuquerque and was on the road north, I realised my mission was going to be almost impossible to fulfil.

 

I listened to the radio on the drive north. Depending on the radio station tuned, the local airwaves alternately crackled with ire or cackled with glee. The Coyote Alliance had finally failed in their last legal attempt to ensure that Steven Blix could not sell Big Sun Canyon to Geiger Mining Corp.

Elated, the CEO of Geiger Mining had called a press conference, saying he was pleased to announce that the massive uranium deposit that lay under the canyon was the largest single occurrence of top-grade ore ever found anywhere on the planet. Then Steven Blix spoke. He said that he was deeply saddened to sell Big Sun Canyon, which had been in his family for over one and a half centuries, but he didn't feel it was right to stand in the way of progress.

I snorted, remembering the Big Swede berating his son, Tiny, about there being gold in them there hills. There hadn't been gold, but something just as lucrative and far more deadly …

Still … as I listened to Blix speak about Big Sun Canyon, I got the feeling that he was genuinely sad at the thought of losing it. I shook that thought off. It was hard to imagine a relative of the Big Swede having a particularly sensitive side.

Steven Blix ended by stating that he would make one final visit to the canyon before signing the contract.

The smug press conference had maddened the Coyote Alliance and sent them into overdrive. They'd called for all supporters to blockade both north and south entries to Big Sun Canyon. They said that a lying conman like Steven Blix should not be allowed to set foot in the sacred canyon his family had stolen and now betrayed.

Protestors from all over New Mexico, and beyond, had answered the call. But they'd been met by
busloads of Geiger Mining security troops — there, the company said, to ensure Blix safe passage onto his own land.

As a result it took me most of the remaining night to find a way into Big Sun Canyon — one that avoided both the embattled blockades and the spotlights from the circling Geiger choppers — and then get up onto the mesa.

I'd needed every last speck of my heightened night vision to make it to the top of Spruce Tree Mesa before dawn.

 

The mesa had hardly changed since I last saw it. Coyote Rock still bayed at the moon, the old pueblo city stood patiently waiting for its people to return … and the Great Kiva was merely ten footsteps ahead of me.

I checked the horizon; dawn was just moments away.

I raced into the kiva.

The four great spruce trees still held up the heavy roof. But the rock garden, the mandala of tiny skeletons and stones, no longer guarded the amber coyote pedestal in the centre of the floor and the wall mural with its weird mushroom cloud was gone. The kiva was completely empty except for the little stone coyote, still offering its empty paws to the cosmos.

I placed Isabella's Cross in the little coyote's paws.

It seemed to nestle there, as though the stone had been polished smooth to fit the curves of the golden ankh.

Then I ripped open Coyote Jack's letter, unable to wait a second longer. What had Jack written? And why?

I frowned. There was one page of writing enfolding yet another letter …

The instruction written on the front of the second letter told me to open it at Coyote Rock, but only after I'd read the first page and done as instructed.

I stuffed the second letter in my pocket and began to read the page. It was addressed to the anonymous beneficiary of Rodrigo Juan de Vivar's codicil. It directed me to clean the oval top section of Isabella's Cross with the dust found at the feet of the stone coyote. But … it sternly warned me not to look at what would be revealed there. It said, ‘It is not your time yet.'

Not my time yet … for what?

Then I was to place the cross in the coyote's paws.

I'd always thought the painted part of the cross — or rather the ankh — looked weird. Certainly not anywhere near as old as the ankh itself. The oval over the top of the cross bar was painted with floating angelic figures. It looked more Roman than anything else. Was it possibly an add-on by Emperor Theodosius?

Dawn's rose-coloured light streamed into the kiva; I had to hurry.

I grabbed the ankh, scooped up a handful of dirt and began rubbing it into the painted oval.

A shining surface was being slowly revealed.

The golden ankh was simply a holder for a mirror.

I scrubbed, trying not to look, but caught sight of a great golden light looking back at me …

It hurt my eyes.

I wanted to look but Coyote Jack's instructions had been stern.
Do not under any circumstances look directly at the surface
.

The mirror fully revealed, I replaced the ankh in the coyote's paws.

I heard a sound behind me … footsteps.

I raced over to the doorway and hid.

The spitting image of the Big Swede strode through the door. He was a huge block of a man with massive shoulders, winter-sky-grey eyes and greying butter-yellow hair. It had to be the Big Swede's descendant, Steven Blix. I heard no more footsteps and hoped he was alone.

Steven Blix walked forwards, straight to the coyote statue, as though in a trance. He picked up the golden ankh and gazed deeply at his own reflection.

The sun's brilliant rays streamed into the kiva, illuminating his features.

Blix's broad face became drawn with anger — as though he could see his worst enemy grinning back at him. Then it became pale with fear — as though his own personal hell beckoned from behind the mirror …

Then I watched in wonder as the dawn rays enveloped him in a rosy-gold nimbus of light.

The anger and fear drained from his winter-sky-grey eyes as though washed away by the golden light.

But still Blix gazed into the mirrored ankh.

Now his features became relaxed … smoother, peaceful. He stood taller, stronger. Blix seemed to be rejuvenating before my eyes. Growing into the man he was meant to be …

Then I knew the sale would not go through. Big Sun Canyon would be safe.

 

I slipped out the kiva door and up to Coyote Rock. Dawn was arching its rosy back into a brilliant blue sky. I stood between the massive paws and ripped open Coyote Jack's last letter.

And gasped in disbelief …

A bright light flashed into my eyes, blinding me for a moment.

I turned to see a glint from behind the old pueblo city. There a man stood, holding a mirror to catch the sun's dawning rays. He wore nothing but blue jeans. There was a round yellow birthmark on his tanned muscular chest.

But it couldn't be …

He raised a hand, the mirror flashed once more.

I waved back.

And he was gone.

My heartfelt thanks to …

The wonderful San Francisco City Guides, a volunteer organisation that provides free walking tours, and especially Rob Spoor.

The park rangers who lovingly conveyed the truths and mysteries of their wards at: Bandelier, Chaco Canyon and Aztec Ruins in New Mexico; Mesa Verde in Colorado; and the Grand Canyon in Arizona. And especially G.B. Cornucopia at Chaco Canyon for sharing his knowledge of the Ancestral Puebloan culture.

The Native American custodians of Monument Valley, Bandelier, Chaco Canyon, Aztec Ruins, Mesa Verde and the Grand Canyon.

Rowena Lindquist and Marianne de Pierres for their generous support.

Pauline Fuller, my Tai Chi and Chinese sword teacher, for her wisdom.

Janet Roberts, Abigail Nathan and Andrea Johansen for their insightful comments, and Owen Roberts, the ex-Flying Doctor, for his expertise.

The wonderful team at Voyager and everyone else at HarperCollins. Particularly the hard-working account managers who go out and sell the books, Darren Holt for such a gorgeous cover, and Kate Burnitt for all her efforts in bringing this book to fruition.

Stephanie Smith, former Associate Publisher — Voyager, a brilliant editor and a delight to know.

Richard Caladine, my love and fellow adventurer.